Unwinding
by Cold Ember
Summary: Missing scene from Clean Hands, because Sam needed a scene to unwind with Jules at the end. Sam/Jules. Oneshot.


_**Unwinding**_

Missing scene from _Clean Hands_, because Sam needed a scene to unwind with Jules at the end. Sam/Jules.

Big thanks to my wonderful beta, mustangcandi, over on livejournal =D

A/N: Okay, so, my first _Flashpoint_ fic! YAY! Because I miss Sam and Jules and they need some screen time again already.

As usual, I don't own _Flashpoint_, obviously. Still shocking, I know, but still true. If it changes, y'all be the first to know (after everyone who lives within eight square miles of me cuz I'll be squeeing so loudly)

* * *

"Hey you," Jules said cheerfully, looking up at him from her place on the couch as he closed the front door behind him and dropped his bag and coat by the table. She took in his tired smile and his slow, careful movements and her smile faded, worry taking over. "What's wrong?" she asked, clicking the TV off and tossing the remote aside, indicating that he should join her on the couch. As always, he made sure to seat himself on her right side so that he didn't jostle her still sore side, glad that the worst of the damage to his ribs was contained to his own right side.

"The Leslie Spitz killer was brought in today," Sam told her and she nodded.

"Yeah, I saw something about that on the news. You guys were escorting him, weren't you?" she asked, snuggling into his side automatically and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She'd only caught a glimpse of the headline as she'd flipped past the news – it was too depressing and so she'd been opting for sitcoms lately. Hours and hours on end of _Everybody Loves Raymond_ and _Cheers_ was the brunt of her television viewing these days.

"Yeah. It didn't go well," he said darkly and she looked up at him, wrapping her arm around his chest as she did so, but withdrawing it quickly when he winced. She didn't even ask, she just grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, inhaling sharply when she saw the deep purple and black bruising that covered most of his torso.

"Sam," she breathed and he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"I'm okay, sweetheart. I promise," he muttered into her hair, not even bothering to add the cliché, 'it looks worse than it is'.

"What happened, Sam?" she asked, her eyes still fixed on his bruises. She knew that it was a dangerous job better than anyone, but Sam… he was supposed to be rock solid, untouchable. And she worried about him. She worried that she couldn't be there to watch his back in the field; that she had to put her trust in someone else to look out for him. It wasn't that she didn't trust the rest of the team, because she did, she just preferred it when matters were in her own hands. She was never very good at sitting on the sidelines and watching; she liked to be in the center of the action. She liked control, and the fact that there was nothing that she could do to help Sam – or the rest of the team for that matter – when they were in the field drove her nuts. That was the absolute worst part of being stuck at home.

"A couple of the victims' family members… they wanted vengeance. One of them, Walter, he was military. He hit Wordy in the vest and took off, the fed we were working with, she followed him, I followed her. By the time I caught up, she had him cornered and he… he threw a concussion grenade and I jumped on it," he told her as she gently fingered the bruise and he was reminded strongly of that morning in her locker room when he'd gently brushed her bruised shoulder with his knuckles.

"How's Wordy?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his bruised chest. She didn't need to ask how he was, she could see the answer clear as day (or, given the coloring, night) on his chest. And she knew she wouldn't get a straight answer anyway. He'd just brush it aside and tell her that he was fine.

"He's alright. He's got some seriously bruised ribs, but he'll be fine," Sam assured her and she nodded.

"Did you get him?" she asked and Sam sighed, closing his eyes briefly. This was the part he really didn't want to have to tell her, partly because he didn't want her to worry about him, and partly because of his still active stubborn streak that made him reluctant to admit any type of defeat.

"We… we got him. After he got me, anyway. He wanted to do a prisoner swap and the guys managed to subdue him," he skated over the finer points, including the frag grenade.

"Wait, Sam, he took you hostage?" she asked, finally looking away from his colorful bruise and up at his face, her eyes searching his and he nodded. "What happened?" she pressed and he sighed.

"Like I said, he wanted to do a prisoner swap, me for Wilkins. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen," Sam told her and she nodded. She knew as well as he did that no matter how much they might want to make a deal like that, they couldn't because in the long run, it didn't make anyone safer.

"So, Ed shot him? Or did he give up?" she asked.

"Neither. Spike finally got Ed to use the slug for once," Sam told her.

"The slug? Why?" she asked. She knew that Spike excitedly suggested using it at almost every possible opportunity, but it had been a long time since Ed had even really considered using it; it had a short range and despite all of Spike's best efforts to fix it, it still didn't shoot quite straight; Instead it tended to veer off slightly to the right, making it unreliable and a last option.

"Because… he had a grenade. He had a frag grenade and he'd pulled the pin and he wasn't going to just give up. Wilkins destroyed his life; he had nothing left except revenge. Sarge tried to talk him down, but…" Sam trailed off, remembering how Walter had reacted to the Sarge's words about how his family had needed him. Remembering the feel of Walter's hand and the grenade pressed up against his chest, right next to his heart, worrying that Walter might accidentally lose his grip on the grenade and kill them both. He'd literally held his breath, not wanting to jostle that grenade any more than Walter already was.

"Oh, god, Sam…" she said, running her fingers through his hair, frowning slightly as she felt a large bump on the back of his head.

"It's fine; my skull is thick," he assured her, correctly interpreting her frown as he felt her fingers brush against the place where his head had collided with the concrete floor. "The worst of it is… while we were all busy worrying about Walter, the fed we were working with… it turned out that her sister had been one of Wilkins's victims. She'd been helping Walter all along and we were busy focusing on him while she was off trying to kill him. We left her in charge of him… we didn't have enough time to wait for backup, he only gave them five minutes before he let go and she offered to watch him… it's my fault. I let him get me and so they were a man down and… if he hadn't captured me, Sarge would never have even considered letting her watch the prisoner," Sam trailed off, self loathing in his voice as he rubbed a hand over his face.

"Sam, come on, that's not fair. It wasn't your fault. You know that. Stop blaming yourself. You had no way of predicting that he'd throw a grenade," she said firmly, kissing the bottom of his chin, his stubble rough against her lips.

"I should have considered it," he said stubbornly and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Sam had dialed down his Special Forces vibe significantly since he'd started with the SRU, but she didn't think that he'd ever really shed his Superman complex. He didn't like to admit defeat and he always blamed himself when things went bad and people got hurt, even when it wasn't really his fault (which it usually wasn't).

"Yeah? And what would you have done differently? I know you. You still would have jumped on the grenade. You still would have gone after her because you didn't know she was working with him. As far as you knew, she was on the up and up. Think about it, Sam, what would you really have done differently if you'd known he had grenades?" she asked, not backing down. He smiled wanly down at her; it was one of the things that he loved about her – she didn't take any of his crap.

"I don't know, Jules… I just… I felt so useless just _standing_ there…" he said resignedly and she smiled up at him. That was both of them, through and through. They couldn't just do nothing. They had to be in the thick of things.

"I know, Sam," she said, kissing his chin once again before he tilted his head down and captured her lips, savoring the taste of her peppermint lip balm and finding comfort in her soft touch. Before her, after a long day, he'd normally take it out on a punching bag, or on a day like today where that wasn't really an option, watching the first game of hockey he came upon and screaming at the players through the TV to unwind. Now just feeling her pressed up against him was enough to relax him and it worked far better than any amount of time beating the crap out of a bag ever could and he wanted nothing more than to just sit there with her on her couch, but he knew that he had to get the rest of the story out.

"Donna took Semple out," he said quietly and Jules looked up at him curiously. "The Custom's Agent, Semple, the one who was working with Walter. Donna shot her. She had her gun on Wilkins when they got to the parking garage. She'd already shot him once. Sarge tried to talk her out of it, but…" he left the sentence hanging, burying his head in her hair and inhaling the faint scent of her raspberry shampoo. The family thing had backfired again. Usually, it worked, almost always, in fact, but this time… it just hadn't been the right audience, he supposed. "It's just… her record, it was as close to spotless as it's really possible to be, same with Walter. They were both decorated officers and then Wilkins just came along and… I guess this one just hit a little too close to home is all," he muttered, his breath ruffling her hair as he spoke.

"No kidding," Jules muttered and Sam looked down at her, knowing that she wasn't just referring to the lengths that Walter and Semple had gone to.

"I'm okay, Jules," he told her again, rubbing her back gently, but her only response was a small sniff. "Jules, come on, I promise, I'm alright. Just a little bruised and sore. I'll be good as new by the end of the week."

"I know, Sam. Really, I do. I just… a grenade, Sam? I just can't stop myself from imagining what could have happened… what if that stupid slug hadn't worked right and Ed had missed? You'd be dead and I just… maybe it's just the pain meds talking, but I just can't help but think what if instead of you walking through the door just now, it had been Ed or Sarge knocking on it to tell me that you were dead?"

"Oh, sweetheart…" he said, not quite sure what he could do to make her feel better. "I… look, you know the job, you know I can't promise that will never happen, but I can promise that I'll do everything I can to come home to you, okay? Always," he said, hoping to placate her somewhat. He really had no idea what he was saying, but it seemed to have the desired effect because she twisted around so that she was laying completely on top of him, careful to keep her left side from pressing against his right and kissed him, a small smile on her lips.

"You better. I don't want to come back to work just to have to break in a new rookie. Especially since they couldn't possibly be as cute as our last rookie," she muttered seductively against his lips and he smiled back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I don't know, I don't really think Donna's all that cute, personally," he said and she rolled her eyes.

"She doesn't count. She's a temporary rookie. I'm talking about the last _real_ rookie we got," she told him, biting at his bottom lip playfully.

"You think I'm cute, huh?" he asked, grinning and she kissed him again, pulling back slowly and resting her forehead against his.

"Very," she said, sliding her fingers through his light blond hair.

"Nowhere near as cute as you are," he told her, smiling.

"I thought I was sexy? A sexy sniper chick, I believe," she said cheekily and he laughed.

"You are, usually. But right now you are my very cute girlfriend who's snuggled up on the couch with me," he murmured as he planted a kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Mmm… okay, then," she said, twisting around so that she was once again leaning into Sam's side and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in closer to him.

"Anything good on?" he asked as she flipped the TV back on.

"_Everybody Loves Raymond_," she said as she grabbed her discarder throw, pulling it over both of them and he snorted lightly, still wary of his sore ribs.

"Of course," he tried for annoyed and exasperated, but failed miserably. There was no way that he could be annoyed when she was curled up against him like this.

"I just… there's one thing I gotta know," Jules said, laying her head against Sam's chest.

"What's that?" he asked, absently running his knuckles gently along her arm.

"The grenade… how did they get it out of his hand without it going off?"

* * *


End file.
